That Feeling When You Take the Shot
by Oro-han
Summary: Prompto's thoughts on the difference between the gun and the camera, and how they each define him. Some spoilers for ch 13.


One of the biggest reasons Prompto didn't like killing things was because of how good he felt doing it.

Everything felt so natural; the weight of the gun in his hand, the click as the hammer fell, the muzzle flash with each round fired, and the smell of gunpowder that lingered in the air throughout. His eyes found the target, he lined up the barrel, squeezed the trigger and hit his mark, already compensating for recoil without having to think about it and repeating the process in less than a fraction of a second. It was so easy, too easy.

That part worried him too, how easy it was. He'd have fun, they'd win, everyone would be happy, and then he'd remember that mark on his wrist and wonder if that's why everything just sort of clicked when he picked up a gun. He also wondered if it mattered if he did it to protect his friends?

At camp he'd clean and inspect his revolver, checking the action, making sure the chamber rotated freely, and he would practice. He practiced his quick draw, how quickly he could pull it out of the ether and have a target sighted, and he'd practice rapid fire. The revolver was double action so he found it was quickest to slap the hammer back with his off hand than to rely on his trigger finger to do the work. He'd seen the trick in movies before, and combining theory with practice had proven that even if most of how they represented guns was wrong, not all of it was.

He also practiced re-loading his gun, over and over. Last thing he needed was to fumble it in the middle of a fight and miss a shot, because there were moments that it could mean bad news for everyone else. He remembered Gladiolus telling him once that everyone makes mistakes, but in combat chances were a mistake would get someone else killed if you were watching each other's backs. That had stuck with him.

Honestly though, as much as he liked the feel of the gun in his hand, he prefered his camera. That way when he shot something it walked away afterwards. It took it's own amount of skill, and plenty of practice. He found it harder to shoot something with a camera when it was moving than it was with a gun. The camera had a different weight to it, and it required delicacy and care, and felt so much more _alive_. When he used it he felt a different sort of excitement, one that left him in awe of the world around him.

When he was done with work he would go back to his camera, inspecting the lenses, filtering through the day's pictures to make sure there was room for more. He made sure there was no dirt or dust on it, that the batteries were charged, and that there was no danger of the lanyard breaking. Every photo, every day, he made sure to take note and improve himself. Sometimes he snapped selfies, but others he would spend long minutes finding the right angle and the right lighting. He took more time and care with his camera than he did with his revolver, if only to make a point to himself of which was more important. He would remind himself every day which of the two really defined who he was.

But it always came back to the gun.

They were fighting a war, a war against the Empire he was born in, and that was something he accepted. He was born there, but Lucis was his home, and this was his family, so if that meant he had to kill now and then to protect it he would. When the time came, when the war was over, and there were no more deamons he would put away his weapon and trade it permanently for a camera. That's what he kept telling himself.

Except, every time they were in battle he enjoyed it a little more, and he found himself singing victory music from time to time. He tried to convince himself it was the adrenaline high from surviving a near death experience, because every fight was a near death experience, but he couldn't quite convince himself. What if it was just part of who he was?

Prompto took a little solace in the fact that everyone else seemed to have fun too, Noctis took a sort of sick pleasure in tearing apart the MT's, but for understandable reasons. Gladio would keep score, and Ignis was business as usual, whether cooking or killing.

He just wished he could trade in his gun for his camera already and forget about how much he enjoyed it, he wished all the death would stop. Unfortunately, he knew better.


End file.
